


don't

by ninata



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/strange fake, ロード・エルメロイⅡ世の事件簿 - 三田誠 | Lord El-Melloi II Case Files - Sanda Makoto
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Melvin being Melvin, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24482173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninata/pseuds/ninata
Summary: Waver wakes up from the usual nightmare to see a familiar face in his bed. (READ NOTES FOR WARNINGS)
Relationships: Waver Velvet/Melvin Waynez
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	don't

**Author's Note:**

> !!this fic has spoilers for the ending of lord el-melloi ii's case files and vague fate/strange fake 6 spoilers!!  
> further warnings for  
> -descriptions of body horror/violence  
> -animal/cat death (only a few references to the canon instance in case files)  
> -mentions of illness/death  
> -the ending isn't exactly the happiest, but it's open-ended!

Waver wakes up sweating.

As he rises into a sit, the dream sticks with him. Bodies, rendered into crude shadows of their previous forms. All red and shiny. The way the whole place swayed, like air in the heat. In the dream, he suddenly is terrified—  _ My students aren’t in here, are they?  _ Two blonds, ripped up and pulled apart. That almost happened in Iselma too.

He wakes up and paws for his nightstand. He thinks to turn on his lamp, but stills when he hears the blankets shift next to him.

“Mm...Waver?”

He had forgotten.

Melvin lifts his head, squinting. “What time is it?”

Waver stares at him. Melvin’s skin is pearly blue with a stark, almost black splash of blood on the pillow underneath his head. The whole of him is barely visible if not for the lights of the city outside. Like a ghost, like a skeleton with a sheet neatly sewn to fit it.

Right. Melvin stayed the night again. His heartbeat starts to slow down. Melvin is here. Melvin, who is not a violin with sinew strings, not a fading, gold-dust memory.

“...A nightmare?”

Melvin says it without Waver explaining, or even speaking a word of any kind. Melvin just knows, whether from his face or heavy breathing. He knows him well. It’s a wonderful, tender thing, and suddenly Waver is close to tears.

“Come here, darling.” Melvin coos. Waver’s gaze shifts to the wall. The pet name embarrasses him, but not enough not to comply. Like interlocking gears, they slide into place. Like dancers ready to waltz, Waver enters Melvin’s embrace. 

“There, there. Poor thing. You never catch a break, do you?” Melvin gathers Waver’s hair and tosses it back over his shoulders, smoothing it down his shoulder blades. Waver shudders, then squeezes him, and he tolerates it. What an awful thing, but Waver perseveres. “Can’t even have a good night’s sleep.”

“Melvin.” Waver croaks, because he feels odd, not speaking. It’s difficult. He wants to tell him he’s fine. He wants to wave off his comforts, make himself a cup of tea in the microwave, drink it and go back to sleep. He wants to be fine, but even after twenty-odd years, that same sore spot still aches like the mallet just left the bruise. He takes a deep breath or two, or three, and plants a kiss on Melvin’s clean cheek.

“It’s okay. I’m here.” Melvin says, and it’s what Waver wanted to hear. He’d thank him, but he can’t find the words—

What he does find spills out of him clumsily.

“Melvin, please…if. If you get...sick of me.” Waver holds him tightly. “If you get bored, or tired of me, please. Just dump me. Alright?”

“...Waver?”

“Don’t...d-don’t die. Don’t leave me that way. I won’t forgive you if you do.” A selfish, impossible wish. The sickly Melvin, who almost died while Waver was in Japan. Who vomited blood regularly, as was his habit, and had in his sleep that night, as well. “If you die without me, I’ll never...I-I can’t…”

How could Waver sound more pathetic? How could he be worse? What more could he say? How could he seriously ask something so inane?

“Waver…” Melvin starts.

“I-I know, I know. I know you can’t promise that. But just...give me a few years of you. Of us. Let me...that’s...that’s all I’ll ask of you. I promise. Please. Just don’t...I…”

His mind shifts to the Holy Grail War in Snowfield, Nevada. Flat Escardos. To all the people he was unable to save. To his own enemy, Doctor Heartless. To the stray cat that died in his arms because Waver simply couldn’t mend its wounds with his ever-so-lacking ability. He thinks of Rider, who Waver could never see again, who had been dead before Waver even had met him. His own parents, even, his hag of a mother and his frail father. He thinks of everyone he’s known, and how they all died or otherwise left him behind.

And yet.

If only he’d noticed sooner. One otherwise ordinary day, Melvin was more than his friend. Waver couldn’t even properly remember the circumstances that led to their tryst, from clumsy hands to skin against skin. Melvin had spent years never assuming, never asking for more, and yet Waver, in response to such a bizarre attitude, could only want to give him the world.

Maybe that was wrong. Was it guilt? Was it pity? Waver had known Melvin longer than he had known his own parents. Maybe that was it. A baby chick chasing after the only thing in front of its eyes. Looking for comfort like a pathetic, abandoned child. That was Waver, of course— Pathetic, lonely, scraping his head against the ground as he sobbed into the pavement, golden weapons cracking against the bridge a ways ahead. 

“Don’t die.” Waver croaks. “Not yet. P-Please, not yet. I can’t lose you yet. It’s not...it’s not fair, I…”

“...Waver.” What a charming, sweet voice that was. How had he ever resisted? “I’m right here, aren’t I? I haven’t gone anywhere.”

There’s a certain distance there in his voice. Waver stares down at the sheets between them, eyes bulging, as if he’ll find something better there. All he sees is flecks of the blood Melvin threw up. Melvin can’t deny those stains. Even if it wasn’t the issue, a mage can die at any time. Waver himself could die, but Melvin—

If a cat, why not Melvin? Anything could be used against Lord El-Melloi II. Maybe he never should have come closer to Melvin. Maybe it’d have been better to stay far away. To stay alone. Maybe that was the moral of the story. The second you grow used to someone’s company— the second you are happy or comfortable, it will be wrenched from your hands and dashed against the ground.

“Waver, you’re…”

He doesn’t need to be told he’s shaking like a leaf. Melvin can’t promise him something that can’t be promised. That kind of stupidity was beyond men like them. Beyond a mage and a tuner. Beyond any fucking adults, thank you, who knew better than to be so unrealistic.

“...We both know I can’t promise you something like that,” Melvin says with a sigh. “But fine. I promise.”

Waver swallows hard.

“You’ve put me in quite a bind, you know? How can I say no when you’re in this state, over me of all things? Fine! Twist my arm. It’s not like I want to die anytime soon, either.”

“Melvin…?”

“...I feel a little silly saying this covered in blood! I have to admit. But I won’t leave you. Not for any petty reason, and I’ll do what I can to give you your time you’re so adamant on having.”

“...Any time you can give me.” Waver says weakly.

“But really, you’re making it sound like a marriage proposal! That’s no good, you know. You’ll give me ideas. ‘Spend the rest of your life with me, Melvin!’ That’s all I—“

Waver grabs Melvin’s face, here, his palms against his cheeks, and pulls their mouths together. He tastes like blood, which isn’t surprising. He pins him back against the sheets, and Melvin yields, smiling, and finally—

Waver does cry. He pulls back and tears drip down his nose, struggling to breathe. Melvin’s eyelashes flutter, and he reaches up, wiping them past his temples. Waver sinks into him, terrified, so terrified that he’ll disappear, and Melvin holds him tightly.

Waver isn’t sure how much time passes. His breathing eventually evens out, and his shoulders sag.

What is most painful is that he does want to marry him. He does. Waver is in love, and he doesn’t want to make the same mistakes he’s made before. Melvin is so close to him, his ribs pressing against Waver’s ribs, and Waver wants that for the rest of his life.

He can’t have it, but he’ll take what he can, the reasonable part of his brain tells him. If it’s one year or another quarter of a century, that’s enough for him. It’s his own fault for waiting.

Always too late. That’s Waver.

The happy things have always left him. That’s Waver, too. The things he’s loved and held dear have all gone. He is the last survivor of the Fourth Grail War. He is the last surviving member of the Velvet family. He is Lord El-Melloi II, the Mystery Killer, the man who ruins everyone he gets involved with. 

His heartbeat dulls. It calms. The whole tide of him stalls into a steady rhythm, and Melvin holds him together like he always did. Melvin starts to speak.

Waver kisses him instead, because he’s a coward. He rests his head next to Melvin’s.

“...Sorry about your pillow.” Melvin says simply. Waver shakes his head, then shuts his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> i'll update my other fic soon! i'm working on another chapter.  
> as for my other ships...well i may write flat and svin again soon? i need to actually sit down and read fsf 5 and 6's translations and not just the summaries/relevant flat bits. LOL  
> everyone, stay safe in these uncertain times


End file.
